Chapter 1
A soft creak fills the room as my family’s butler, Jerry, swings the double brown doors open. He stands to the side, gesturing for me to enter. Like a heavy rock, the feeling I can only describe as fear and despair settles at the pit of my stomach.
I jump off the chair, my fingers still fiddling with the cold metal strap of my purse.
My breath gets caught as I grasp what’s waiting for me on the other side of the door. I kill a few seconds by positioning my black handbag on the plush, red chair. I waste more seconds by examining the black and red contrast I have made.
A loud groan escapes past the large doors and I know my time is up. I exhale softly, smooth the nonexistent creases on my black miniskirt, and walk into the room.
The lights are switched off and the only light present is from the half drawn curtains to the right of the desk. My father is sitting behind the latter. His face is in his hands and his shoulders are slumped.
“Was that him, daddy?” I ask softly.
He makes incoherent noises, something between soft groans and mumbling. He exhales into his palms and draws them away from his face. “Lance, yes.” He folds his hands on the desk space directly in front of him.
I don’t have to ask him how his call went or what was said. His saggy demeanour says everything.
I fiddle with the pearls on my necklace. “Does mother know?”
He snorts. “We’d have to sedate her before delivering the news.”
“Right.” I stare at father’s study to avoid looking at him. Everything in the room is the same as it was yesterday.
The 300 year old cabinets lining the walls, the heirloom furniture, the dark purple drapes covering the windows. Why does it all feel foreign?
A sudden flood of disgust washes over me and I feel the need to vomit. “I should get ready for dinner.”
I don’t wait for him to excuse me, I rush out of the room and down the heavy carpeted floors. The nausea turns stronger and I hold the walls to avoid falling to the ground. I try every breathing exercise my therapist taught me. Nothing helps. My heart is attempting to break free from my chest and every breath is a struggle.
I make it down the long hallway and head right. I rush up two more flights of stairs and down more halls till I arrive at my bedroom. I race into the bathroom and fall to my knees. I barely have time to lift the toilet seat before retching in the bowl. I haven’t had a solid meal in two days so the only thing that comes out is wine and smoothies.
I wipe the corners of my mouth on a hand towel and flush the contents of my stomach away. I sit on the cool white tiles and rest my back on the wall. Staring at the wallpaper brings some comfort. It’s a stunning array of falling brown leaves with a blue lake lining the bottom.
After a short while, the negative feelings return. I force myself to my feet and wobble to the sink. I grip the marble for support and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I examine my features carefully, high cheekbones, large doe-like black eyes, plump lips, and perfectly shaped black eyebrows that match my dark hair.
I see the spot my brown lip liner came undone. It took a while to get the perfect shade.
I remember my handbag, still sitting outside father’s study. It has my lip liner.
It’s fine. I don’t need it.
I tuck my wavy hair behind my ears and puck my lips in the mirror. Using a small brush and a swipe of an old liner from the drawers, I cover up the gap.
I smooth the pleats in my black skirt and inspect the buttons on my white shirt.
Everything is in place.
I leave the bathroom, bedroom and rush to the main foyer two floors down.
Once I’m satisfied with my heart rate, I slip out the main doors of the house and into the white Porsche waiting at the end of the cul de sac.
“Maddy.” I exhale. “How are you, my love?”
Maddy looks up from her phone. “Ellie.” She runs a hand down the back of her straight blonde hair. “What took you so long?”
I put my seatbelt on. “It’s stupid. Let’s just get to lunch.”
She puts her phone away and drives towards the gate. I press a button on my keychain and the silver gates fly open.
As we drive down the roads, Maddy fills her car with the latest London gossip.
I try and fail to pay attention. She asks questions the whole time she drives and I struggle to form answers.
“Also, Wes Hawthorne is in town,” she says.
That gets my full attention. I scoff and roll my eyes.
Maddy giggles. “I knew you’d hear that.”
I rest my back on the seat. “For his sake, I hope he avoids me while he’s here.”
She gets a notification on her phone and checks it with one hand. “I doubt you’ll see him.” Maddy’s eyes flicker between the road and her screen. “He’s meeting with a bunch of shareholders. Maybe he’s looking for buyers.” Maddy takes her second hand off the wheel and types a quick text. “Maybe he’ll stop by your house. Convince your father to invest a couple million in shares.”
My breath gets caught at the back of my throat. I fight to hide how tense I am. “Yes, maybe.”
A car overtakes us and Maddy adds pressure to her accelerator.
“Mads.” I grab her phone from her hands. “Drive.”
“Sorry.” She throws both hands on the wheel and steadies her car. A sneaky smile soon makes its way to her lips. “Weston Hawthorne.”
“Don’t speak his name.” I reach into her handbag and pull out a pair of white sunglasses.
“It’s been how long?” She takes the next left. No prior indication. “A year. Maybe more?”
“I don’t know.” It was 11 months ago exactly. I was at St Anton on holiday with my friends, he was staying at the same resort. We tried our hardest to avoid each other.
But on his last night, our friend groups met for dinner together.
“He was very rude to me that evening.” I whine.
Maddy doesn’t disagree. “He might just have been having a bad night.”
“He’s always having a bad night when I’m in his vicinity.” I balance the sunglasses on the top of my nose. “I don’t know why he hates me so much.”
Maddy doesn’t have time to respond. We arrive at the restaurant and she parks her car in front.
We get out and the valet rushes in to loud horns and yells of abuse from other drivers.
“You know your car was parked half on the road,” I say as someone opens the door for us.
She glances back briefly. “You know how I feel about tight spaces.”
We walk to our usual table in the back and are greeted by our friends.
I give them a quick hug and take my seat. A couple minutes go by, and I get a text from my mum.
She wants to see me as soon as I get back.
She knows.
My friends idle chatter fills the table. What fashion show they’re most excited for. Which island to go for a mini break. I can’t pay attention.
A few months ago, I was as enamoured as them by meaningless chatter. Now, I can only think of one thing. The one thing that can, no, will destroy my life.
